


Some Birthday Bradko

by ThatJerkRMED



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatJerkRMED/pseuds/ThatJerkRMED
Summary: Please don't ask me why tacos do not canonically exist in the TAZverse, but apparently Italian and Chinese food do. Okay, thank you.





	Some Birthday Bradko

     Standing on the steps of the Fantasy P.F. Chang’s, Brad Bradson wondered whether there was such a thing as being “fashionably late.”

     He understood the basic concept; you never wanted to be the first person at a party, or at least that was what Taako had told him on more than one occasion. “It implies a level of social desperation,” the wizard had explained in his distinctive lilting tone. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” He’d followed that up with a conspiratorial wink, and even now Brad didn’t know if Taako had been teasing him, or if he’d been honest in his own distinctly unflattering way. It was always difficult to tell the difference.

     Still, teasing or not, Brad hadn’t become the head of the Bureau’s HR department by thumbing his nose at punctuality; so he’d told Taako that he’d made the reservations for 7:00, then called the restaurant and asked them to have a table ready by 8:30.

     _I’m a liar now. Another day, another change for Taako, and not one that I’m proud of. Why do I do this for him? He’s definitely not interested in doing the same thing for me._

     Brad batted the disquieting thought aside, refusing to let it spoil what promised to be a magical evening with the elf that he loved. He’d been planning this for a month straight; combing over the dinner menus of every gaudy mid-tier restaurant on the Moon, reviewing the décor of the candidates who made it past his punishing vetting process, coordinating his criminally overbooked schedule to make sure he got _just_ the right evening. He’d even gone to the trouble of finding out who else would be dining in the restaurant tonight, ensuring Taako would have the most appreciative audience possible for whatever outfit he decided was the most _on-brand_.

     The cherry on top? Brad had dragged out the novelty tux Taako had bought for him on his last trip to Rockport. In point of fact, _dragged_ wasn’t a bad way to put it; the thing was sewn from whole gold cloth, with bits of actual unrefined gold mineral embedded in the fabric. The pants were about two inches shorter than they ideally would have been, but apparently that was an intentional choice so a discerning observer could note the gold cloth socks, which had been liberally decorated with a wide variety of multicolored sequins.

     The shoes were comfortable enough – or at least they would have been, if the tailor hadn’t decided they were too plain to go with the rest of the ensemble, and dipped them in a vat of smelted gold at _just_ the right temperature to ensure they wouldn’t burst into flames; the result of that was a pair of wearable gold bricks. The last bit of the ensemble was a gold bow tie with a tasteful floral vine print running along the surface of it... that had been buried under a mound of golden sparkles that coated the entire surface area of the tie, making it not only itchy, but ensuring that it would scratch the ever loving shit out of the throat and neck of anyone unfortunate enough to wear it.

     The end result was that Brad looked like he’d been excavated from the side of a mountain, and that he probably would have been far more comfortable if someone had just left him there. The weight of the tux was _crushing_ , and Brad didn’t doubt that a human or an elf would probably just topple over and remain stationary on the ground until somebody took pity and peeled the tux off their thoroughly bruised frame.

     Still, tonight was special. Brad could endure… he hoped.

     Brad was wondering just how much the tux had cost when he heard Taako’s voice echoing through the courtyard out in front of the F.P.F. Chang’s. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place if you weren’t going to carry through! That’s some bush league shit, my dude. Bush league!”

     Brad noted that Taako’s voice was raised – well, raised higher than usual, anyways – when another voice boomed out across the courtyard. “Hey, I was just curious. You’re the one who made such a huge fucking hullabaloo about it. If you find out I’m right, you’d better tell me this – ”

      The conversation came to an abrupt stop as the two rounded a corner and saw Brad standing on the steps of the restaurant. The second voice belonged to Magnus Burnsides, who seemed legitimately surprised to see Brad standing there, looking like he’d raided a mine and taped his ill-begotten loot to a piece of otherwise outstanding clothing. He scowled at Taako. “Now? Really? You think this is really the best ti – ”

     “Brad!” Taako squealed and ran up the steps, looking like he was going tackle Brad. But he stopped halfway through, his eyes widening as he got a better look at what Brad was wearing, as if he was afraid he might cause an avalanche by colliding with the half orc. Instead, he traipsed up, gave Brad a peck on the cheek, and took him – carefully – by the arm.

     It gave Brad a better chance to get a look at what Taako was wearing – or, more specifically, what he _wasn’t_ wearing. Brad had stressed that he wanted this to be a proper dinner, and part of that involved the two of them wearing their fanciest digs; black tie, black dress, lots of ostentatious ornamentation that would draw the eye, that sort of thing. It was the only reason Brad had excavated his monstrosity of a suit from the back of his closet.

     Taako, in contrast, had shown up in a pair of cut-off jeans, a pink mesh tank top, and a pair of high tops. _Winged_ high tops. As in high tops that, for whatever reason, had a pair of soft down, fully articulated bird’s wings swooping out from the sides. The wings would occasionally flap all on their own, sending a puff of cool air up through the cuffs of Brad’s pants, giving him a refreshing breath of air beneath the hot, heavy vise that was his tux.

     “I, uh… I thought we agreed on _fancy digs_?” Brad said, hesitantly.

      “Oh, darling, it’s _me_. Anything I wear is what everybody should want to wear, at least if I’m wearing it _right_.” Taako gave the tux a discerning look. “Though I’m flattered you felt the need to get all dolled up for me.  Who gave you that monstrosity?”

     Magnus saved Brad the trouble of having to respond by making an altogether insincere coughing noise. “Well, I… I, uh… I’ll leave you two to it. To it. Good to see you, Brad.”

     “Thanks, Magnus. You too.” Brad turned to Taako. “Shall we?”

     “Oh, yes, we shall. Bye, Magnus. I’m sure we’re going to have an absolutely _profitable_ evening.”

    Before Magnus could respond, Taako artfully wheeled Brad around on his heel, and marched him through the front doors of the restaurant. Even in that short span of time, though, Brad had more than enough opportunity to see the expression written all over Magnus’ face.

     Guilt. Magnus looked guilty. But guilty about what?

     Brad did his best to put it out of his mind. It was going to be a magical evening, after all; how could it not be after all of his planning? What did he have to worry about?

     _It’s Taako. You never know._

     That thought stuck with Brad as Taako led him inside, the doors closing behind the couple with a heavy _thud_.

\---

     “Welcome to the Fantasy P.F. Chang’s, lucky diners! I’m Jon, your Saucier Supreme!”

     Brad couldn’t help but notice that “Jon” looked a lot like “Odie,” the server at the front podium who had confirmed their reservation. And they had both looked a lot like “Nermal,” the sommelier who had come out with a wine list for the couple to mull over while waiting for their server.

     Of course, it was also worth noting that all three of them looked exactly like Garfield the Deals Warlock, with the exception of their mustaches. And Brad couldn’t be sure, but he thought those mustaches all looked like they’d been drawn on in a hurry with a stub of charcoal.

     If the eerie similarity bothered Taako at all, he didn’t show it. “Yeah, uh, we’ll go ahead and get started with… what’s the most expensive wine on this list? I haven’t read it.”

     “Ooh, special occasion? I’d be more than happy to make a recommendation. We have a vintage Rockport ’37, never been opened before today! I’m sure Nermal will be beside himself to part with it, but if you’ve got 2,000 gold on hand, well…”

    “Fine. Sure. Whatever. That sounds good.”

     Jon was practically skipping as he left the table; Brad, in contrast, felt like he might’ve been sinking through the floor. He wasn’t entirely sure it had anything to do with the tux.

     “You okay, Bradson? You look like the canary that the cat swallowed.”

     “I’m… fine. But that wine sure seems like a lot. I socked some cash away for tonight, but I don’t hate for dinner to end with us washing dishes to pay the tab.”

     Taako waved a hand through the air like he was shooing away a particularly annoying fly. “Don’t even fret, _mon frère_. I’ve got you covered.”

     “Oh, no, Taako, I’m the one who invited you to dinner. I couldn’t possibly ask you to – ”

     “Brad. Seriously. Relax. We’re covered.” Taako gave him a sly smile and one of those winks that he was so good at. “I’d be more concerned about you getting fired over taking a coworker out to one of the… well, _finest_ is a huge overstatement. One of the _most acceptable_ restaurants on the entire Moon.”

    Brad shrugged. In spite of himself, felt a momentary surge of pride that he _could_ shrug at all in his tux. “You’re talking to the proud author of the Bureau’s HR manual. As long as I file the paperwork and keep the Director apprised of any potential conflicts of interest, there’s no issue. Not that she hasn’t tried to talk me out of pursuing a relationship with one of our finest Reclaimers.”

     Taako arched an eybrow. “ _Lucretia_ tried to convince you to break things off? Come on, you can’t just leave it at that. Dish.”

     “Not a lot to say, really. We’re not talking about some big, dramatic speech. It’s mostly subtext. Body language, turn of phrase, that sort of thing.”

     “And what kind of _subtext_ are you _sub-reading_ from me?”

     Brad replied with a shy smile. “You’re not really the _subtext_ type. More _bold text_. In hundred point font. On a billboard. Stacked on top of another billboard.”

     Taako huffed indignantly. “Any billboard lucky enough to have my face on it would probably take issue on my behalf. But I’d much rather hear how you got so good at this kind of thing.”

     “Most people hear the words ‘head of HR’ and they immediately start trying to think of ways to paint themselves in the best light, even with someone as understanding and as patient as me. So you have to know how to read people.” It came out sounding more hurt than Brad had intended, much to his own surprise.

     “Well, plenty of others have tried to read me, and I can tell you they failed. _Miserably_.” It sounded like some odd mix of a joke and a reproach. “I’d much rather know why she’d try to convince you that I’m nothing less than the light in your otherwise bleak and paperwork-oriented life?”

     “Taako. We talked about this. People expect some degree of confidentiality when they’re talking to me in a professional sense.”

     “Oh, come _on_ , Bradson. You’re killing me here! I told you about Lucretia and Merle’s whole fling, the least you can do is engage in a little coworker-to-coworker gossip about the boss.”

     Brad went still, and stayed still long enough for Jon to flit back to the booth, drop a couple menus off, and take the couple’s order. Well, Taako’s order, anyway; Brad remained motionless and apparently missed Taako ordering two of everything vegan-friendly on the menu. It wasn’t until Jon hummed his merry way back to the kitchen that Brad started moving again.

     “I’m sorry,” he croaked. “You said Lucretia and Merle’s whole _what now_?”

     Taako looked at Brad as if he couldn’t decide whether or not he was joking. And then the elf laughed a long, shrill, legitimately delighted laugh. “Oh, my gods,” he gasped, barely holding back tears. “Did I never tell you? No, no, I must have. Come on. No? Oh, my _gods_ , I didn’t! The look on your face!”

     Brad tried to pin down the multitude of emotions currently parading through his head. He was most definitely confused, that much he knew. He also felt a deep and proprietary sense of betrayal. “She never even bothered to file the paperwork,” he said, making no attempt to hide how deeply that hurt. “I’ve told her about every date I’ve been on with you, I’ve spent hours inventing and filling out entirely new forms just to make sure our whole thing was above board. And she never even bothered to…”

     Taako chuckled and wiped tears from his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah. Some people, huh?”

      “Does Merle even know that she’s – ”

      “Right? I work with the guy, and even I can’t believe he’s that thick. Even Magnus puzzled it out before Merle did. Though he had Angus holding his hand a bit along the way.”

     Taako leaned in across the table, his dark hair brushing across Brad’s glasses as their eyes met. “So, now I’ve told you a secret. Well, it’s only fair you tell me a secret. Come on… What did Lucretia not-say about me that makes you think she wants us to break this off? She’s already pulled a double standard on you; it’s only fair for you to do the same to her.”

     Brad didn’t actually think that was fair at all. This wasn’t just a matter of idle gossip, this was a matter of professional pride. How could he do his job if he couldn’t keep his conversations with other members of the Bureau private? And what embarrassing secrets would Taako try to pry from him if the opportunity presented itself?

     But Taako was looking at him. Not through him, not around him, right at him. He was one of the few people on the Moon who ever did that – the _only_ one on the Moon, in fact. And how could he risk ruining that, especially when Lucretia couldn’t be bothered to fill out a slip of paper?

     Brad swallowed through the lump in his throat. “She… seems… just, really protective. Not of me, of you. You, Magnus, Merle… she just seems really worried about you guys. I don’t think she’s trying to warn me off because she’s worried about me. I think she’s doing it because… because she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you?”

     Brad felt sick; he thought maybe he would’ve felt some sense of liberation or pride after he’d said all of that to Taako, like he’d taken a step forward in their relationship. Like he’d deepened their trust, and now Taako would nod, smile, and carry on with dinner like nothing happened.

     But Brad just felt sick. And Taako was clearly disappointed. His long bunny ears drooped, and he looked down at the table. “Oh. Huh. I guess I’d hoped it’d be something… _saucier_ you know?”

     Brad felt a warm flush along the back of his neck. “Saucier? You’re saying you’re disappointed because what I told you wasn’t some big scandal? Some bombshell you could use against her?”

     Before Taako could respond, Jon smoothly positioned himself at the end of the table. “Sorry, gents, but it’s going to take the kitchen a little while to get caught up on such a big order. Maybe we could discuss the details of your payment while we wait…?”

     Taako spoke before Brad could wave the server off. “Yeah, see, I wanted to talk to you about that too, Jon. Let me ask, how do you feel about making… deals?”

     Brad was about to ask Jon to come back in a bit after he and Taako had talked about what had just happened, but the server’s expression stopped him in his tracks. Jon looked like he had been struck by lightning, and somehow the shock of it had energized him. His smile was frozen on his face, lips pulled back so far that it had to be slightly painful; his eyebrows looked like they were trying to achieve escape velocity, and Brad half expected the server’s eyes to jump out of his head and do a couple of laps on the floor. His breathing was uneven; it was more like _panting_ than anything else.

     “D-deals, you said…? I don’t – this, uh, this is a restaurant, friendo! I’m afraid our menu is… _not negotiable_.” Jon didn’t say the words so much as bite at them on their way out of his mouth, as if they were unfriendly strangers crossing a yard with a particularly hostile dog in it.

     Taako shrugged, as if the fact that he had just put himself several thousand gold in the hole didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Oh? That’s a shame. I heard from a friend that you were one of the best freewheelers on the whole Moon. I guess if you don’t feel up to it…”

     “Friend?” Jon said the words wistfully, but then the rest of the sentence caught up with him. His smile began to inch closer and closer to a snarl. “Well, hypothetically, if I were to accept such a deal on behalf of the Fantasy P.F. Chang’s, what would it entail?”

     “A secret…”

     “A secret?” Jon seemed almost disappointed.

     “A really good secret, though. A secret only three people on the entire Moon know.”

     “A secret worth 10,547 gold pieces? Not including tip of course. That would have to be one humdinger of a secret…”

     “I mean, take it or leave it, my dude. It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to me.”

     It didn’t take an expert to see that Taako had Jon on the hook. And Brad had to admit, he was curious about what this secret was. Not enough for him to forget that he’d just broken a fundamental bond of professional silence in a failed attempt to impress his boyfriend, of course. But curious enough to let this strange mess play out.

     Jon’s smile was gone. He was sweating to such an extent that Brad had some serious concerns that he might collapse… or burst, possibly. One of those two. “I can’t… I… I’m sorry, but…”

     Taako finally smiled. And it was a sharp, unkind smile. “Magnus Burnsides knows this secret too.”

     “Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me! Tell me now!” Jon lunged over the table, wrapped his fingers through the mesh of Taako’s shirt, and nearly pulled him up from the table. Despite being accosted, Taako’s smile grew wider, a hint of his buck teeth peeking out from between his lips. Jon hadn’t seemed to notice. “Tell me the secret! I’ll comp you the meal, and every meal you’ll ever eat here again! Just tell me the secret so I can use it against Magnus!”

     “Oh, the secret’s not about Magnus. It’s about you, Jon.”

     Jon froze like a deer in the headlights.

     “Or should I say… _Garfield the Deals Warlock_?”

     Jon – or, Garfield, rather – dropped Taako, and then sank to the floor as if he could no longer stand under his own weight. He looked beaten; worse, like Taako had just stripped him of his soul. “You tricked me. You did it again. Every time. _Every time_. How did you even know that I was…?”

     Taako laughed, face flushed with vindication. “I knew it! Free dinner, plus Magnus owes me five gold! I told him it was you! I told him, and he called bullshit, but who was right! Taako was right! _Aha_!”

     That warm flush along the back of Brad’s neck was back. And it was getting hotter. “What?”

     Taako looked at him, his eyes bright and beautiful and elated. “We came here after the whole Rockport thing to celebrate getting the Oculus, and Garfield here was the one who served us! I told Magnus it was him, but he wouldn’t buy it. But I was right! Gods, I’m so glad we didn’t go to the Fantasy Olive Garden inste-”

     Brad brought his fist down on the table with a sharp _crack_. And, in fact, a crack did appear in the table as a result. Taako only arched an eyebrow. “Dang, Bradson, I know it’s bad fake Italian, but-”

     And then Taako got a look at Brad’s face. And if Garfield’s sudden outburst hadn’t scared him, the expression on his boyfriend’s face certainly had.

\---

     It may be prudent to take a moment to discuss Brad’s half-orc heritage.

     Now, Brad was by no means _ashamed_ by his orcish ancestry, nor was his dad’s side of the family at all unpleasant towards him. Every year he’d book a flight to Neverwinter, rent a horse to ride the rest of the way to his dad’s clan hall out in the middle of the country, and cover himself head-to-toe in fur and fake blood to take part in the Feast of One Thousand Skulls with the rest of his extended orcish family. And the fake blood had been their idea, not his; they knew that the real stuff made him queasy.

     But if there was one thing that Brad had never been able to stand growing up, it was the deep, primal well of anger that had come with his orcish blood. More so now that he had a job that relied on a deep and proprietary sense of professionalism.

     It wasn’t that Brad thought it was wrong or somehow unhealthy for him to get angry from time to time; but orcish anger burns hot and long, and Brad had long lived in dread that one day, that anger would compromise his ability to do his job correctly.

     The good news is that – in this case, anyway – Brad’s job was not in jeopardy.

     The bad news is that – in this case, anyway – Brad’s relationship with Taako might be.

\---

     Taako reflected that an angry half-orc was a sight to behold.

     Brad’s lips were curled up, showing bared fangs and clenched teeth. His eyes had gone from nervous and kind to wide and bloodshot in a snap. His body was tense, so much so that he had busted the seams on the jacket of his gaudy, gold-lined suit.

     It wasn’t the first time Taako had seen Brad like this, but it was the first time that Brad’s anger had been directed at Taako.

     “Months. I spent months planning this.” Brad’s voice was harsh to Taako’s ears; gravelly and grating, and the words were clearly difficult for him to say through gritted teeth. “I wanted tonight to be special. And you used it as an excuse to _win a stupid bet!?_ ”

     They probably heard Brad shouting down below the Moon; shit, they probably heard him shouting on other planes, come to think of it. But all Taako could focus on was the voice.

     It would be easy to say that it sounded nothing like Brad; that it sounded like an angry stranger, someone that Taako didn't know and didn't care to. But that would have been a lie, and not a terribly convincing one. Despite the fury written plain on his face, it sounded _exactly_ like Brad. An angry Brad. A _hurt_ Brad.

     “You would’ve shown up late! You couldn’t even bother to get dressed up for this! I showed up in this stupid, gaudy, uncomfortable mess, and you show up looking like you just rolled out of bed! I even betrayed a professional trust to try and impress you! I put all of this effort in for you – I _always_ put all of this effort in for you – but you can’t even be bothered to try, can you!?”

     That was when Brad grabbed the table with both hands, and chucked it as hard as he could across the room. Not at Taako, mind you; not at anybody. He just _threw_ , as if it were the natural thing to do in that situation.

     Any solace that Taako could have taken in that realization was ruined by the fact that the table struck one of the two facsimile statues at the entrance of the restaurant, and sent it toppling to the floor. The fake man riding his fake horse hit the ground with the sound of breaking porcelain, and suddenly the floor was covered in chunks of the tragically destroyed décor.

     The sound seemed to break Brad out of his furor. He blinked, and suddenly he seemed much smaller, almost deflated. Like his anger had left and taken most of Brad with it on the way out.

     Their eyes met. “Taako…” Brad croaked. “I didn’t… that wasn’t… I…”

     Without a word, Taako made his way to the doors and left, careful to step over the shattered pieces of statuary littering the floor.

\---

     It wasn’t terribly difficult for Brad to find Taako after the dust of his outburst had settled.

     Garfield, as good as his word, promised to comp the meal. “A deal is a deal, even if it’s a bad one,” Garfield had said with an air of wounded nobility. Still, Brad had left his jacket with Garfield to cover the damage he had caused; the chunks of gold would either pay for a new statue, or get melted down to create an even worse one.

     The sun had gone down; the stars were out and shining down on the Moon, distant and offering no comfort to the lonely half-orc. Brad wondered if there was someone out there amidst the vast cosmos who had seen his outburst. He doubted any hypothetical observer would have blamed Taako for leaving Brad… or for _leaving_ Brad, come to think of it.

     The worst part was that he’d meant every word. Part of him wanted to believe that he hadn’t, or that he hadn’t expressed his feelings properly, as if that somehow made a difference. But he had been hurt and angry, and he wanted Taako to be hurt and angry too.

     _I’m considerate like that. Empathetic. Too bad I’ve apparently learned how to weaponize empathy._

Each step forward was harder than the last; should he even bother trying to find Taako? Would the elf even want to see him? Would it be kinder for him to let things cool down, give Taako some space before trying to apologize? That thought made sense, but Brad was too afraid to take the chance. _Taako’s impulsive. Flighty. If I don’t try to fix this now, he might not give me the chance later._

     Despite all of the anxiety and regret tumbling around in Brad’s head right now, he was relieved to find that he still cared what Taako thought. That, despite everything, he still loved Taako. The question now was whether or not Taako would still love Brad.

     In the time they’d been dating, Brad had learned that there was one place Taako would always go when he was upset. He’d gone there after he and his friends had narrowly managed their initiation into the Bureau; he’d gone there after the supreme weirdness that had been last year’s Midsummer Solstice; and he’d gone there after Magnus had pulled a rather uncharitable prank with a bottle of gray hair dye.

     Nobody bothered to lock the Bureau Commissary. And that meant that the kitchen was open at all hours of the night.

     When Brad walked through the doors, the lights were all on in the kitchen; the metal of countertops and cooking tools shined as if freshly polished, giving the place a bright, clean look. Ingredients were laid out and labeled according to freshness; a bit of cilantro here, basil there, freshly sliced tomatoes. The smell of baking bread wafted through the space, and the earthy smell helped calm Brad’s thoroughly nervous stomach.

     And standing at the center of it all, a rolling pin in his hand and a look of focused determination on his face, was Taako.

     He was glaring at a piece of dough, as if it had said something uncharitable and needed to be set straight. A pair disembodied hands kneaded the dough with a level of care and sophistication that most veteran chefs would have wept to see. Every couple of seconds, the hands would fly up into the air and spin the dough about, flattening it, but keeping a gentle enough grip on it that it wouldn’t fly away.

     The doors were in Taako’s line of sight, so he couldn’t have missed Brad walking in. But he didn’t say a word, continuing to keep his eyes on the magic hands as they worked diligently. As Brad moved closer, he saw that Taako had changed into a plain white cotton tee, with a chef’s apron tightly bound around his waist and neck, and he had bound his hair up under an alabaster white wizard’s cap, the point of which puffed out slightly to create the illusion of a more arcane version of the traditional chef’s hat.

     Brad coughed gently into his hand. “Taako, listen…”

     Without a look or a word, Taako pointed at something; a stainless steel sink, with a bottle of detergent sitting slightly to the left. Curious, Brad moved towards it, and stood there, facing away from Taako. After a couple of seconds, he looked over his shoulder; Taako had moved on to chopping up a handful of vegetables, but the magic hands were still there. They moved into Brad’s eye line, and rubbed themselves in a clear mimicry of someone washing their hands. Obediently, Brad hit the hot water spigot with his elbow, spritzed the detergent on his hands, and washed.

     When he was done, the hands beckoned him to stand next to Taako at the counter; when he did, the elf wordlessly pushed a cutting board at Brad, and carefully handed him a knife. Brad started to cut, while Taako took the freshly pressed dough and began to carefully spread marinara and a bit of cheese over it. Meanwhile, the magic hands opened up one of the ovens, and took a piping hot loaf of bread from it; one hand transformed into a translucent knife, and the other held the loaf while it cut.

     After several minutes – and a few more terse instructions from hands both magical and Taako – they had assembled a beautiful margherita pizza, the single most appealing loaf of garlic bread that Brad had laid eyes on, and two small bowls of spaghetti, artfully plated by the deft pair of magical hands. The work had helped to calm Brad down; now that it was done, a stone had settled itself back in the pit of his stomach, heavy and insistent.

     But Brad forgot about it completely when Taako – assisted by his mage hands – grabbed the whole lot, and walked straight through a wall as if it were nothing but air. Brad gaped at the wall for a bit, and only stopped when the mage hands came back through the wall and practically dragged him through to the other side.

     On that other side, there was a table, along with a matching set of chairs. The food had been carefully laid across the table, along with a candle, a bottle of Rockport ’37, and a single red rose in a slender glass vase. A trio of birds hovered above the table, a pink bit of tassel held in their beaks as they slowly flitted around the table.

     The bit that really caught Brad’s eye was that they were on a floating disc about twenty feet across, slowly orbiting the Moon. There was nothing beneath them but open air. Well, and the ground. But the ground was very, very, _very_ far down, so it was hardly worth mentioning.

     The hands ushered Brad towards one of the chairs; Taako was at its opposite number already, waiting. As Brad got into position, each hand pulled out a chair for the couple, then clapped and dissipated into thin air.

     “Thank you,” Brad said, almost by instinct. He heard Taako snort, but when he looked over, the elf’s expression was impassive, nigh unreadable.

     The pizza was sliced; garlic bread was distributed; and the spaghetti – no meatballs, naturally – had a generous helping of marinara applied to it.

     And that was it; sitting between the two was the single most appealing meal that Brad Bradson had ever seen, in what was the most romantic and/or terrifying setting he ever could have imagined.

      “I’m sorry.”

      Brad looked up from the food and saw Taako looking at him. The elf wasn’t on the verge of tears, but the look on his face was pained, and very clearly guilty.

     Before Brad could say anything, Taako bulled forward. “I know tonight was supposed to be special. I know how long you planned it. But I thought… I thought, for once, it would be nice if you were the center of attention, you know? Every time we walk into a room, go out somewhere, do something together, it’s about me. And I like that… I mean, I’m _Taako_ , how could I not?

     “But I know you like to be the center of attention, too. It’s part of what I like about you; not everyone gets it, you know? And you give that up for me. You give that up for me all the time. So I wanted to show up tonight and have you be the center of the room, the one everyone’s looking at.

     “And the thing about Magnus… you’re right. It was shitty of me. But I just… wanted you to be impressed. I know how everyone says I’m an idiot. Shit, I’m the one who perpetuated that whole thing. But, I guess… I guess I thought it would be worth the risk. Not to have Magnus pay out on a bet, but just for you to see how clever I can be. The look on Magnus’ face was just gonna be the silver lining.

     “But you’re wrong. You don’t _try_. You _do_. And when I try, I fuck everything up. You deserve better than that, Brad. You deserve somebody who’s as good as you. As kind as you, as caring as you, as willing to make sacrifices as you. And I thought that could be me. But I can’t get it right. So… go find someone better. All I want is this. One last dinner. Just one last night with the half-orc that I lo-”

     Brad grabbed the pizza and threw it off the edge of the disc.

     As a piece of pure, inimitable culinary art flew off into the night, all Taako could do was stare at the spot where it had been, completely numb. And then as if that outrage hadn’t been enough, Brad threw the garlic bread out after it. The spaghetti dishes were chucked at the birds, which dropped the tassel and flew off, chirping indignantly. Marinara rained down over the disk, staining Brad’s already thoroughly-strained dress shirt and Taako’s pristine wizard-chef hat. The bottle of Rockport ’37 was spared, naturally; that stuff wasn’t cheap.

     With the food gone, Brad and Taako just stared at each other for a moment.

     Then:

     “What in the absolute fuck did you do that for, Bradson!?”

     All Brad did was laugh; a deep, warm belly laugh, full of relief and joy. “’You don’t _try_ ,’” he said, imitating Taako’s lilting voice passingly well. “’You _do_.’ Oh, gods help me, my boyfriend _is_ a hopeless romantic after all. What am I going to do with you?”

     Taako stalked over to Brad and grabbed him by his sparkly bow tie, pulling him down so that the two could look each other in the eye. “Speak. Or I’m going to send you down to go pick up the _three hours of my life_ that you just threw off the fucking Moon.”

     Brad wiped a tear away, his laughter settling into a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist.” He took a deep breath, and tried to gather himself. “Taako, you’re wrong. You’re so wrong.”

     “I’ve been wrong before about a lot of things, Brad. Trust me, this is definitely not one of them.”

     “You are. You’re so far off base. What you tried to do was considerate and kind and good. Yeah, you didn’t pull it off. But I’m the one who had a breakdown in the Fantasy P.F. Chang’s. I was the one who didn’t tell you how frustrated I was or how I was feeling. I put all of this on you without talking to you, and that’s on me. I fucked up too.”

     Taako didn’t object, likely shocked that _Brad Bradson_ had just used a cuss. Brad pushed on regardless, the words coming out in a rush. “You seem to think that I deserve somebody who’s perfect. But nobody is. Everybody’s flawed. Everybody’s makes mistakes. But I’m not looking for somebody who’s perfect; I’m looking for someone who’s trying to do _better_. I’m looking for someone who looks at me and doesn’t see ‘that guy from HR who might fire me if I say the wrong thing.’ I’m looking for someone who’s willing to walk into a room with me and steal the spotlight. Because if I didn’t think that you weren’t a good, kind, worthwhile person, I wouldn’t have wasted my time getting to know you.

     “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting angry at you. And I’m sorry for not telling you how I felt. But you try to do better, and you try to do better for me. That’s why I couldn’t eat that meal. I couldn’t let you go on thinking this had to end. Because I love you, Taako.”

     Things got quiet, and the quiet went on for a long moment.

     Brad Bradson and Taako the Wizard stood there, and for that long moment, there was nothing for one but the other. The entire world was a half-orc and an elf, a wizard and a head of Human Resources, standing on a disk in the open air, with nothing being said between them. Maybe nothing needed to be said. Maybe there wasn’t anything to be said.

     But – eventually – something was said.

    “’I’m not looking for somebody who’s perfect,” Taako said, his voice struggling to emulate Brad’s deep baritone. “I’m looking for someone who’s trying to do _better_.’ And you were making fun of _me_ for being romantic? Good gods, never mind. Who else would be able to put up with that shit? Sorry, Bradson, you’re stuck with me. More’s the pity.”

     Brad smiled, a blush working its way across his cheeks. “You’d better watch it with that. I wouldn’t want to have to report you to HR.”

     You can probably imagine where things went from there. I will say that the bottle of Rockport ’37 was never returned to the Fantasy P.F. Chang’s, though nobody really seemed to mind. Well, nobody besides Nermal, anyway.

\---

     Far, far, far below the Moon, a man walked across a grassy field.

     A man walking through a field is not an altogether unusual occurrence under ordinary circumstances, even in the middle of the night. But this man was shirtless, and he seemed to be very, very confused. He had just woken up with no memory of who he was, climbed out of a pod filled with some sort of odd goo, and found two items waiting for him on a table; a gold coin and a pair of blue jeans.

     “I’ll go for a walk,” he said, not to anyone in particular. “I’ll go for a walk, get some fresh air, and then I’ll figure this all out.”

     Unfortunately, he never got the chance; as he was walking across this lovely field of gently swaying grass, a pizza tray falling from the sky knocked him unconscious. And then a metal pan holding a loaf of garlic bread struck his unconscious form. And then, as if to add insult to injury, a pair of spaghetti dishes careened through the air, and dumped their contents on his now-motionless form.

     The body laid there for a while; then a spectral, almost ghostlike form separated from it and began to float above it. This spectral form simply stared at the body that it had come from for a while, before finally asking the only question that seemed sensible at that moment in time.

     “What the fuck?”


End file.
